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George let out a fussy sound of frustration.
I said, “I don’t think you want to eradicate the Merry Men, or the other bandits in Sherwood Forest. Not completely, anyway.”
The Sheriff tilted his head, an amused curl of his lip replacing the scowl of frustration. “Oh? Do go on, John. I’d love to hear your philosophy on the complexities of politics and protecting a city.”
“Without the Merry Men, you have no one to fight. No one to spend your money on trying to find. No excuse to empty the sizeable coffers stuffed by the citizens of this land.”
“I can always find a way to spend money, fool.”
“Not in a way that will placate the masses.”
George pouted, nodding, and looked over his shoulder up at Guy. “You’re holding out on me, captain. You didn’t tell me he was this clever.”
“Aye, sir. Swift, too, for such a big man. As you just noticed.”
Snorting, George turned back to face me. His pale cheeks had turned lightly pink, apparently embarrassed my harmless outburst had caused him to tremble, and Sir Guy had seen it.
“You might be right,” George said with an absentminded shrug. “To a degree.”
I felt I was more right than just a degree. The more I thought about it, the more I was almost certain Sheriff George wanted to get to the Merry Men just so he could give the perception to the public that he was searching for us and trying to make Nottinghamshire a safer place.
If only the people knew who the real terror of this land was. They knew George was a terror in the sense that he controlled the tyrannical tax laws . . . but if they knew why bands like the Merry Men existed . . . his entire house would come crumbling down.
I just need to get the people to think a little harder, and connect the two issues—poverty and outlawry—and I might have something here. A way to start a true revolution.
But I can’t do any of that in here.
After the quiet dragged on for a bit too long, and George’s incessant staring was starting to make me uncomfortable, I said, “And what of Robin of Wilford?”
“You mean Robin of Loxley? The young woman you’ve hopelessly fallen in love with, just as you did with my dear niece, Imogen?”
My teeth ground together, body going taut.
George smiled cruelly. “Your reaction tells me I’m right. There’s no use hiding it. You can’t.”
“Why would you possibly want me to lure Robin?” I was genuinely curious about his scheme, but didn’t expect much of an answer from the Sheriff.
“Who says I’m using you as a lure for her?”
“Because you haven’t executed me. You don’t even know the girl. You hate me. I killed your brother.” At that, George stiffened again. “For everything I can think of, you have your man, Sheriff George. It’s me. So . . . why Robin? I’m more important to you than she is.”
George didn’t react. His face stayed soulless, emotionless. “That’s where you’re wrong. Besides land rights and the Wilford estate, I’ll leave the reasons why I want your little pet to myself. Because you are right, John: I do have my man.”
“How can I be the lure for Robin if she doesn’t even know where I am?”
His lips slowly curled into a grin that nearly made me shudder. “Oh, I might be laying some breadcrumbs across Sherwood Forest for her to follow. We’ll see how long you’re kept a secret.”
Treacherous bastard. It took everything inside me not to lash out again. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm and fight a battle I couldn’t win. Not with these damned shackles holding me in place. But if I ever do get out of here . . . you’ll rue the day, Sheriff George. I promise it.
“You’re clever enough for a big barbarian,” he said, tapping his chin, “and your little execution comment gives me ideas . . .” He stood to his full height as he trailed off, knees creaking. Then he groaned and stretched his arms out in front of him. “But you’re not intelligent enough by half to understand my machinations. So stop trying.” The Sheriff lightly kicked my bare foot in front of me. “I’ve flapped my tongue at you enough. Are you going to finally give me anything useful? This is becoming a bore.”
I shook my head, looking down at the floor.
“Then I think it’s time we change tactics.”
At that, I glanced up, blinking. The last time he “changed tactics,” I regretted it.
George turned around, nodded to Sir Guy, and the hunter reached behind him and produced a small hand-axe.
